False Fingers and Real Bruises
by Fickle By Nature
Summary: Denied damnation through contrived unity, two demons sought solace in each other. What does it mean to fear your lover, and to ache for your enemy?


There was no pre-reader for this story. Apologies for any misspelling or inconsistencies that I may have missed.

Asuka growled and struck downward, her insides yielding with distant pain as she impaled herself, but it was worth the distant pain as she knew her victory was close at hand. Her opponent gasped under her, the remaining air forced of their lungs as it writhed and bucked. She took advantage of the opening and pounced again, slamming all of her weight down onto him.

He sputtered, choking, and she grinned madly in the darkness. She was even closer now, close enough that she could imagine her climax drawing back like a wave on the precipice of gushing forth to sweep her away.

Then her enemy whimpered for the what had to be the umpteenth time and suddenly the wave receded further…and further…until finally it was out sight, leaving her stranded with a fire that continued to burn in the pit of her stomach.

She hissed in rage as she she pounced again, impaling herself hard enough to make the bed frame and it's other occupant creak in protest.

But her desperate attack was useless, the pleasure gone, and the stoked flame remain unquenched as it's slowly fading heat dissipated.

Chest heaving, she pushed down the urge to scream until her throat was as sore as her cunt, knowing it would only attract her few neighbors and any passing patrols.

Finally, she bitterly admitted defeat and leaned forward, taking a moment to quickly wipe away the sweat trailing down her cheek before they could land on him.

With that done, she dismounted from his lap with a vulgar sucking sound that cemented her foul mood, before pushing him aside to take his place laying down. He rolled with the motion, probably expecting it, and sat on the edge of the mattress with a grunt.

For a while neither of them said a word, simply letting the steam from their bodies permeate into the already humid darkness.

Then, after two or so minutes by her estimate, the thick silence was interrupted by the snap of rubber and a wet _pop_. The figure stirred and she heard something land in the trash next to her bed.

She grimaced, hurriedly pulling on the long sleeved shirt that she had prepared before the start of their coitus.

With her body covered, she reached her hand out, briefly fumbled with a chain, and by act of woman, not god, or a cabal of geezers seeking to become god, there was light.

He hissed, turning away from her and shielding his face with his arm.

She sneered at how he withdrew from the light, trying to avoid being exposed to her, as he always did whenever their sessions were over.

Asuka was well aware the real source of her building frustration was her ruined orgasm, at her _failure_ to achieve something so simple even a dog could do it.

However, the frustration was lessened by the fact that she couldn't be the only one blame. After all, why did she even allow him into her home if he couldn't at least do the most basic thing a man was capable of?

She opened her mouth to start venting but stopped as he raised his other "arm" and rotated it smoothly in it's socket at an unnatural angle.

At a glance, the prosthetic could've passed as a real limb, and she supposed that wasn't too surprising considering it's inner workings were based off the technology them to mentally sync with their war machines.

She had been there when the surgeons and engineers had proclaimed how they had not stepped, but _leaped_ towards achieving the holy grail of bodily implants, finally allowing amputees to feel some semblance of sensation through the flesh-like material that hid a framework of cold thermoplastics and titanium. However, she had been far from impressed since the designers hadn't bothered to add the details and imperfections that made it seem like a real arm, like hair or veins, or the characteristic creases in the palm or on the knuckles.

The result was an unnaturally smooth facsimile that seemed a better fit for a mannequin sitting in a store front, rather than on one of the world's only two pilots.

She fondly recalled how it's predecessor had desperately snapped outward, a purple plated arm imitating the motion an instant later to cast an AT-field over the ruins of her Unit-02…only for both shield and arms to be gored straight through.

A nauseating feeling of guilt suddenly threatened to fill her stomach, battling against the unraveling anger already there.

Asuka gritted her teeth and forced herself to remember how easily this new "arm" had tossed aside an oak table heavier than the both of them combined, before wrapping it's inhuman fingers around her neck. As her vision had degraded like an old shirt warmed by mouths, she remembered how the face behind the tool had become equally inhumane, projecting a fury that had outmatched even hers.

She shuddered, tucking the memory into her arsenal, then moved on to scrutinize the the rest of her "lover".

He was stretching now, joints crackling and popping like wood in a campfire. His body had remained lean and wiry over the years, despite the constant beer runs they had indulged in up until recently, but his sinewy frame was filled out with muscles earned from routine exercise, underlining the new sense of grace he moved with. Even his features had changed for the better, the feminine angles of his face having a squared up just enough to give him the sturdy look that befitted a real man.

Say what you will about Shinji Ikari, but having the world nearly end had forced him to finally grow a spine, and, almost as if to spite her recurring doubts, he had continued to bear the weight of living rather than crumple beneath it.

Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for the rest of the world.

She rolled to the right and narrowed her remaining eye at the trash can. The soft light of her lamp illuminated something grossly slick and glossy.

"You didn't cum."

He flinched at the edge of her vision, but didn't turn.

"What?"

She extended her arm and pinched the sleeve of rubber between two fingers and thrust it towards him with disgust. He was finally looking at her now, fabricated fingers running through brown hair that crowned a haggard looking face.

Part of her felt…discomforted by the sheer misery she read in the dark rings beneath his bleary eyes, but the rest was filled disgust at the naked display of weakness.

Where was the beast that dared to hurt her? Where was the demon that wore her rival's face?

_It__'s obviously still hiding, like a wolf in sheep's clothing. _She thought to herself with a snarl, _I just have to draw it out._ _Then I can have revenge._

She sucked in a breath and barked out the accusation in Japanese, as she always did when she made damn sure he couldn't weasel his way out by feigning ignorance of German.

"_You. Didn__'t. Cum."_

She smirked as his conditioning held true and he cringed at the switch in languages. He had been acting oddly for the past couple weeks, and this was a comforting return-to-form.

"A-Asuka I-"

He was reverting back to stammering, but still had the audacity to keep looking confused as she tossed the used condom at him. He cringed again as it stuck to his chest like a vulgar parody of a boy scout badge.

"I know haven't the the last two times? Is it because of this?" she raked her fingers under her remaining eye, actions replacing words she refused to indulge or tolerate.

His mouth began to move, but as always her tongue was quicker, sharper.

"Or am I not good enough for the _Invincible Shinji_? Or maybe I'm not tight enough?" she waved her hands at her covered groin, hating how bruised and hollow it felt and loathing how it would remain that way into the morning, "I bet you'd get off if you were fucking that green eyed haired _schlampe_ who just arrived at Wille HQ, wouldn't you? Mari? Mana? Whatever her name was. I bet you'd _love_ to see how wet she'd get you! Admit it!"

She leaned forward, part of her recognizing that he had stopped moving away from her, but the rest drank deeply of the new heat pulsing through her veins.

"Or maybe you'd prefer Wonder Girl? What better cock sleeve to bend over and shove your dick in then a doll, and a _dead_ _one _at that! You sick pervert!"

"Asuka."

Her voice rose as he _dared_ say her name again, surging forward to crash against his orchestrated remorse.

"Fake sex. Fake arm. Fake guilt. Everything about you is fake,_ Rokubungi._"

Oh how he _recoiled_ at the use his true last name. But still he held his ground and even had the gall to shuffle toward her, face twisting with some new emotion.

Suddenly a wave of cold fear splashed against inferno in her chest as she watched the bogus arm reach towards her, fingers spreading and ready snap back back together.

"Asuka, I-"

She turned away, throwing herself back onto on the bed, away from the looming weapon and those treacherous blue eyes of his. Her own fingers dug into her ribs until she could pain blossom beneath desensitized flesh, and she reveled at the sense of control it gave her.

"I can't believe I let you use me like this! I'm filthy now, disgusting, repugnant, worthless!"

She was screaming but her voice seemed distant as her nails bore deeper.

"I hate you, Third Child! I hate you! I feel sic-"

"Asuka!"

The bed sagged and suddenly she felt those bloodless claws seize her shoulder through the her shirt. Taken by surprise, she felt another wave of fear as she imagined those claws squeezing down with monstrous strength until her flesh was pulped and bones shattered, leaving her even more broken, forcing her to replace even more her flesh with more vile plastics, making her into even more of a dol-

But her muscles weren't pulped, and her bones didn't shatter. Instead, the claws gripped gently, but firmly, and in her shock she couldn't resist being turned onto her back and forced to take in his sorry visage.

His expression and his entire posture radiated a distinct mixture of flagrant guilt and misery—the melancholic aura that had always seemed innate to his very being. Her mind screeched in betryal as her heart was filled with a sickening sense of nostalgia.

"Asuka, I…" he said, blinking rapidly before focusing his eyes on her, "I just want to see your face."

For what seemed like an eternity, the lingering remnants of shock remained. Then the all-too-familiar feeling of fury—her oldest companion, her _true_ partner—roared forth to replace it.

She grabbed the cruel device and pushed and pulled, but her efforts were in vain as it didn't budge and she only accomplished shaking herself.

With her fire stoked to new heights by her failure, her hand let go and spasmed, eager to claw at his face, to scratch out his heartbreakingly azure eyes.

_Stop! Remember! Remember the promise!_

The voice, her own voice, cut through her mind and her hooked fingers trembled as she ground her teeth and tried to block it out.

Leave it to her battered heart to be held back by a vow made when she had been at her lowest.

Regardless of those hollow words, neither of one of them was a stranger to physical agony, so ripping into him would be useless. Besides, words had always been her most effective weapons against him.

She sucked in a breath and sat up sharply, nearly head-butting him.

"You want to see my face, huh? Why? So you can cum on it? You want to dirty me more? Is that what-"

"I want to see your face when we do _this-_" Shinji cut in, his eyes narrowed into slits, and suddenly there was a warm hand on her thigh, encroaching on the thin strip of smooth skin where her scars ended and her womanhood began, "_Sex_. No more fucking in the dark. No more hiding."

The tension around his eyes lapsed, returning them to watery pools of regret.

She tried to look away, resisting to urge to feel sympathy, to feel anything but hatred, but his next words pinned her down as much as his hands.

"I want to see all of you, not just what you decide to show me," he said softly, "No more running away, Asuka."

She stilled, then slowly a growl rose in her throat, escalating into bellow as the words sank in, and this time she did a raise a hand to scratch at his face.

He didn't move, yet her claws swiped at empty air.

She let out another howl of frustration, and he closed his eyes as she all but spit in his face.

"You bastard! Are _you _accusing _me _running away? _You of all people!_"

He swallowed thickly, weathering the blow. She worked her jaw and licked her lips, anticipating an excuse, or some backhanded retort, or worst of all, an apology.

But instead, her mouth dropped open, eye widening as he gripped his right shoulder with his left hand, his real hand, and with a grimace and a grunt he squeezed and _twisted _where false flesh met real meat_._

There was a wet hiss and the fake arm jerked, then _detached_, pulling away to reveal a knob like piece of metal covered in intricate circuitry, sticking out parallel to where the head of a humerus should've been.

For a moment there was only silence as he eyed the dismembered limb a queasy look. Then he tossed it behind him, and she heard it land on the carpet with a muffled _thump._

She continued to stare as he looked up, the misery that radiated from his eyes replaced by emotions she couldn't quite discern, emotions that seemed unwavering, but still somehow fragile.

_Regret. Resolve. Longing._

"I am," he answered, "I know I've been a coward, and a hypocrite, but we can't going on like this."

He had known the moment she had opened her door, and transfixed him with that baleful but yearning gaze, that he would be forced to go forward with his plan.

And yet he had allowed himself to be pulled past the threshold, manhandled onto her bed, and subsequently conquered.

When it came to sex with his fellow pilot, he had quickly discovered it was less a matter of "making love" and more a matter of surviving a relentless siege under the cover of unending night.

Their couplings were _always_ preempted by a cover of contrived darkness; lights were turned off, doors were closed, curtains were drawn—she had even enforced that their phones be stowed out of reach, screens down. It had converted each room they met in into chambers of stifling gloom that reminded him of being back in Misato's closet, willing his cassette player to drown his out guardian's weeping.

He would wait for her in the darkness while she undressed, until her outline would suddenly appear before him as if she were a phantom, and shortly after quick pecks gouged at his face and shoulders. Those brief grazes were rough and tense things, like the hands that held onto his so they wouldn't dare stray. Then she would release her hold, push him onto his back and begin her offensive in earnest.

Typically, she faced away from him, squatting on his cock and gripping his knees for balance like a warm blooded gargoyle overlooking a plaza of cotton sheets bordered by his long legs. Or, when she was too inebriated to coordinate, she would ride facing forward, allowing him to hold her hips as she attempted to grind his glands into raw meat.

Anything other this binary set of positions was dangerously close to having her beneath him—a suggestion that had nearly had driven her to outright leave when they had first stumbled into his bedroom on that fateful Spring night. He hadn't been sure whether to feel offended, embarrassed or fond over her refusal to "submit" to him, so he had gradually settled on experiencing all three as their trysts had continued.

For the first few times he had played his role, dutifully grunting and whimpering as she callously rode him as if he were an old warhorse sent out on a suicide run. He had even grown to enjoy it, suppressing the uneasy mix of emotions whirling within while he lost himself to the sheer savagery of her sustained blitz.

Then, on the eighth time, there had been an unexpected break in the onslaught as she had leaned forward to adjust herself, her sweat laced mane nearly suffocating him.

It was then that he had heard _The Sound. _

Prior to then, he had dismissed it as just series of passionate cries offered up to the muggy abyss. But at 3 A.M in morning, with no traffic outside his apartment and most of Berlin asleep, _The Sound_ had been unmistakable in the enclosed space.

He hadn't heard it in years; not since he had attempted his first sober kiss, and she had out called from a dream for her mother…

Instinctively he had let go of her hips and reached out to hold the sides of her face, thumbs carefully wiping away wet trails left on cheeks he couldn't see. He remembered his mind slowly starting to catch up with what was happening as he tried to sooth her with soft words and comforting murmurs, letting his guard down as she had seemingly lowered hers…

…which had left him utterly blindsided to the maelstrom that had followed.

She hadn't tore at him directly, at least not with clenched fists and open palms, but at everything else around him.

He had long since learned better than to get in her way and had simply waited it out, picking up fallen objects and furniture that hadn't been left ruined in her wake.

As he had salvaged, part of him had noticed his devastated bedroom looked eerily similar to the old Geofront after the JSDF had cracked open the underground cavern with N2 mines, giving way for nine white vultures to glide down and ravage the last two defenders of Nerv HQ.

Her man-made tempest of cross-lingual curses and flailing limbs had just moved onto the living room when a pounding shook his door in it's frame and he scrambled to answer it.

On his doorstep had stood an abashed looking agent of Section 2 (Tom? Leon? Daniel?), backed by a pair of grim-faced _polizei_, a man and a woman. Apparently his neighbors three floors up and two floors down, as well concerned citizens passing on the street had summoned them, while the agent had begrudgingly joined in when they had arrived at the building.

He had been quickly separated from the fuming red head, and after confirming neither of them had been seriously hurt, he had quietly been made to explain the "flare up" as best he could to the male officer. He remembered how his awkward control of the German tongue had been made worse by the feeling of shame that had slid its way into his stomach.

Fortunately, it hadn't been too difficult to explain the situation, or at least the end result, since Asuka's tantrums was a well known variable to anyone who crossed her path, and were about as common as rain while varying just as much in severity.

Tonight had merely been a severe storm, not a typhoon.

As the interrogation had wound down, he recalled feeling himself growing angry at the man. He was just doing his job, sure, but he was stranger who knew nothing of their shared past or their struggles.

Then in an attempt to mollify the officer, he had explained that he occasionally had his own share of tantrums from time to time, but they were rare, almost mythological.

He remembered immediately recognized his misstep as the the officer had sharply looked up at him from his notepad and his hand twitched towards his sidearm. Mortified and shamefaced, he quickly told the man how one their arguments had escalated into something beyond cutesy metaphors, and risen intosomething_ real,_ something _primal_.

There wasn't much to describe about incident: after an argument a few months back he had gotten drunk enough that his red-tinged double-vision had faded into black, and he'd awoken to find his table upended, the rubbery faux-flesh on his prosthetics torn away in ragged strips, and bruises on Asuka's neck.

It hadn't taken much to put two and two together.

What he left out of the story, was how afterward they had separated for had seemed like an eternity, and he had managed to stifle much of his drinking by desperately replacing the craving with sugar and caffeine, trading one vice for two. Unfortunately that had left him a jittery mess as he had tremored by a phone that never rang and how she had avoided him at every chance, all while his restless mind replayed every rumor of her seeing other men in an unending loop.

Eventually the loneliness and lurid fantasies had become too much to bare, and he had shivered and shuddered his way to her home before throwing himself on her doormat to await judgment.

His sentence had been a tongue-lashing fierce enough to leave the remains of his ego raw and bleeding, proceeded by her riding him with enough to force that he had taken a taxi home rather than hobble. Whatever restraint she shown before out lingering affection or care for his wellbeing was gone, and he had accepted it almost gleefully.

Then had come his _true_ punishment.

That night had been the sixth time, and eventually there had been a seventh, and now would have been the eighth, before he had the mistake of trying to comfort her.

But again, it was a such a short and painful tale, though really not that unusual given their history. After all, couples quarreled all the time, right? So why had the cop stared at him like he'd gone mad?

Then the middle aged officerhad sighed heavily and ran his fingers through his blond burr cut before excusing himself to talk briefly with other two outside. The man had returned shortly after, casting another look that seemed to both pity and condemn him, while whispering a few solemn words and an equally curt prophecy.

Then trio had left, leaving him alone holding two pamphlets.

He remembered flipping through the first pamphlet, his frazzled mind trying to make sense of the advice printed on the nonthreatening color scheme of pink and white.

It had advised him to trust his instincts, to recognize when that he could not "work it out", how to identify and built a support system, pointed him to addresses were others like him were sheltered…all repetitions of the lines that officer that interwoven into their conversation until he dredged up that dreadful memory.

The second pamphlet was in a similar vein, speaking of how to identify "stressors" in his life, how evaluate his mood, reframe his thinking and remove himself from situations…again all advice he had heard before from the one or six therapists he had bounced between over the years. All the placid faces of those quacks had long since blended together in his mind and become a meaningless impression.

He must of have looked at those papers uncomprehendingly for another eternity before they were abruptly taken from his hands. Dazed, he had stared as she had torn apart his two pamphlet along with three others, before looking up to take in her face.

Depleted of fury, Asuka had seemingly shrunken to half her height, with her normally staunch frame hunched over and shaking. Her red rimmed eye set in her blanched skin had made for a sickening sight, more traumatic than any horror show the aborted spectacle of instrumentality had produced.

Despite all of the horrific details that ran counter to everything to what he knew to be Asuka Langley Sohryu, premiere angel slayer and ace Eva pilot("_And don__'t you forget it, idiot!"_), what he remembered most clearly was how she had tried desperately to suppress T_he Sound _as it wracked her body_…a_nd how she had failed miserably.

_The Sound_ was less of a singular noise and more an series of torturous notes that alternated between sniffling and whimpering, as if unsure of which to commit to. Regardless of which miserable track was played, tears always accompanied it, devastating her make up, her fragile facade of tenacity, and his heart.

He had tried to reach out for her, to comfort her, but she she slapped his hand away, growling as she shielded her throat.

_Don__'t hurt me and I won't hurt you._

He remembered nodding and trying to speak, but words failed him as he struggled to reassure her he'd never hurt her. But he knew the sentiment was a lie. Everything he had ever done or do only seemed to wound her.

She watched his blundering in silence, then turned and walked out the apartment. He had stumbled after with impotent excuses, not daring to touch her, leaving him unable to stop her as she jumped into her red bullet of car and raced off into the night.

It was sight of her tear-streaked face fading into the darkness which had truly broken him, and finally forced him to do something, _anything_.

"What are you waiting for?"

He snapped out of the reverie that had overtaken him and internally cursed as the present reasserted itself.

The soft light granted him a perfect view of Asuka's half-clothed body, as lithe and firm as the hazy impressions he had gleaned in the dark.

Here she was, finally laid out before him, just as he had planned for, yet he couldn't find it in himself to be happy.

The muscles in her legs were taught, looking as if they had been sculpted from stone instead of living tissue, and the muscles in her jaw and around her eyes were just as stiff, constricting her features into a snarl. The entirety of her being seemed dedicated more to imitating a wound up spring made of skin and bone than the a audacious woman he had grown to love over these past five years.

The sight made him miserable, but he had expected this, and before he could talk himself down, he reached out and began to massage the rock-like muscle in her left calf, trying to knead it back into flesh.

"What the hell are you doing?"

He ignored the bite in her words and continued his ministration.

"I'm massaging you."

"Why?"

He considered the question, trying to form his next words in such a way that wouldn't be interpreted as a slight or snark. He settled on being honesty.

"I know you don't trust me, or believe in me. You have every reason not to," he said, "But please, allow me to spoil you a bit, because you deserve it, more than anyone I know. I want to make things up to you."

Shinji waited with baited breath, bracing for a lashing.

Fortunately, the planets must have aligned at the very moment because not only did she not lash out, but instead _blushed. _There was little time to appreciate the sight as the planets immediately flew along on their celestial paths and the blush reverted back into a scowl, just as quickly as it had appeared.

However, he was certain he had seen it and he felt confidence surge through him, urging him onward as he moved onto and up the other leg, stopping to pay equal attention to her thick thighs.

He did the best job he could given he was down to one hand, and that blessedly that was enough since she hadn't stopped him yet and the the firmness under his grip finally seemed on the verge softening.

Then his hand brushed the bottom of her shirt, which extended just past the bottom of her pelvis, and he immediately ceased his massage.

She hadn't put on the panties during their post-coital respite, leaving him to confront a shaded view of a trimmed red hairs above a pair of slightly parted lips. He'd already been there, or rather, _in_ there, but actually seeing her womanhood bared before him, even partially, was simply daunting_._

He looked up at her, silently praying to whatever celestial bodies were watching to favor him again.

Her piercing gaze examined him like that of wolf eying another beast of prey…then she slowly curled back the hem of her shirt upwards, just three inches, stopping at just above the red patch.

His hand slid along the outside of her left leg, slowly reaching inward to to junction where hip met pubic mound.

He extended his thumb, and ran it through the cropped stubble, enjoying the feel of it. His thumb trailed down further, brushing against her clitoral hood and carefully pulling it back.

She hissed and he instantly withdrew.

"I'm still s-sensitive, you idiot!" she growled, "I'm not some loose whore you can just fist at will! Do it right this time!"

He nodded, curling back all but two fingers, concentration split between the task before him and the tremors that threatened to wrack his entire body and expose his fear.

His fingers entered her and he was surprised to find it was warmer than he had expected, almost feverishly so, and it felt more sticky than actually wet. That said, what wetness there was only allowed him up to his second set of knuckles before he encountered friction.

He retracted his fingers and drew upon what little knowledge he had culled from locker room talk and the few videos he had seen when the need for release had almost overwhelmed him.

Feeling her eye still on him, he tried again with even more caution, and to his disappointment, but to no great surprise, the friction persisted, and his efforts were still awkward, even with the excuse that he was using his off-hand.

Their foreplay up until then had been thoroughly one sided, usually consisting of a few of brief pecks and a curt hand-job on her part, both of which were always harsh and insistent, but the minimal requirement to get him hard enough so she could impale herself. Any attempts on his part to his reciprocate had been met with growls and nails sinking into his wrists.

Lack of practice aside, the other problem was that no matter what he did, she twisted and squirmed with some opposing motion that left him fumbling and on the verge of constantly saying "sorry" as he tried to compensate.

"Stop."

He halted, feeling his already flagging courage recede further while the tremors intensified.

"I can't expect a dumkompf like you to do this right the first time," Asuka said, rolling her eye.

He fought the urge to protest, to make some excuse, but to his surprise she reached down and gripped his wrist.

"Watch, then do what I tell you."

He watched, mesmerized as she used her two fingers to spread her outer lips, giving him a view of the interior.

The trance wavered as he noticed her walls were slightly chafed, the natural pink blending with inflamed red.

_Knowing her, she__'s probably ignoring whatever pain she's feeling and would blow me off if I asked about it. Should I stop now?_

Guilt threatened to overwhelm him, but he suppressed showing his worry as looked up to see her looking off to the side, a much gentler shade of red once again spreading through her cheeks. This time however, the color didn't retreat.

If she were in pain, she'd already made it quite clear that she'd stop him, and now she was practically inviting him to continue.

"…_Slowly p_ut in your index finger about two inches, then curl it, _carefully_ until you feel sort of a rough spot. Then rub the tip of your finger against it, back and forth."

Shinji did as she instructed, reaching just beyond the point where he had stopped before and feeling the texture she described. He stroked lightly and she suddenly shuddered, eye wide and wild while her chest heaved upward.

He almost withdrew, but her hold on him held.

Then she let loose a long and heavy sigh, and gradually her chest sagged back down along with the rest of her body.

"A-alright, I guess you don't suck at this," she murmured, "Now put in your middle finger, and _slowly _start moving your fingers in and out. Finger me, don't _finger-fuck_ me."

Again he obeyed, deliberately working his sticky fingers along roof of the tunnel. To his growing delight, the motion became smoother as her walls clenched and moisture built up around his touch, and the stiff muscles in her legs slackened as she sank deeper into the mattress.

"Shinji?"

The sensual undercurrent in her tone made a streak of lightning race down his spine and into his groin. Her impertinent gaze lowered to where the lightning had struck and petrified flesh, but it was a unfocused, lacking true distaste.

"Yes, Asuka?"

"…Tell me I'm a great pilot."

He hesitated, feeling an unsettling feeling slither into the back of his mind, but he forced it away as he noticed her left hand tweaking a bump rising through the fabric of her shirt.

"Asuka, you're _more_ than a great pilot, you're the _best,__" _he said with genuine sincerity,_"_Everyone's always known you were. Even without the angels, people still rely on you to te_"_

The Second Child (or rather, _Second Adult_, he reckoned) let loose a throaty groan at his words and her hand moved up his wrist to place his thumb back on her clitoris. He pressed down gently without being told, tenderly caressed it with as much care as he would his own member.

"I…_ah, _I-"

The tendons in legs grew taught again as her back began to arch and she started rising off the bed, but he held on, keeping a loose grip on her pelvis in what he could only describe as an intimate sort of handshake.

Then her shirt started to slide down, uncovering the rest of her pelvis…and the canvas of crinkled and discolored skin that was her navel.

She slammed her hips to sheets, legs snapping together so fast that his slick hand was forced out.

He shuffled backward, bracing himself for a foot to strike out and flatten his nose, or heaven forbid, the onset of another "flare up".

To his surprise however, neither scenario came to pass. Instead, she flung herself onto her side, head snapping down to bury themselves between knees drawn to her chest, her ankles interlocked.

Her hands grabbed at the hem of shirt in a white knuckled grip and tried to wrap the rest of her body in it. Her efforts were in vain as the shirt proved too short, leaving her rump and the soles of her feet exposed.

All in all, it was a disturbingly perfect demonstration of the fetal position.

Her muffled voice came out a flat, passionless monotone, easy to dismiss as being devoid of any inflection. But in that non-tone he could distinguish the all-too-familiar timbre of self loathing with overwhelming certainty.

"I'm disgusting."

He retorted back almost out of instinct.

"You're not ugly! You're-"

"Shut up!" she hissed, "Just shut up, Third Child! I've had enough of your lies!"

Her words triggered a sudden burst of anger to erupt in his chest, almost causing him to double over.

_She__'s doing it again! Shoving aside my feelings! Must it always be a fight with her?_

He sucked in a deep breath and brushed way selfish thoughts, counting backward in his head as had learned from recent classes. This wasn't about his feelings, he _knew_ how he felt. This was was about her, not him, that lashing out.

He crawled forward and laid down facing her huddled form. Then he extended his hand, pausing only for a moment before he grasped her shoulder.

Focusing all of his willpower on keeping his voice steady, he spoke the words he'd practiced in the mirror for the last two weeks.

"You are Asuka, the greatest Eva pilot there ever was or will be, and the only person I can relate to on this entire planet. I know you don't think so right now, but you are beautiful, intelligent and you excel at everything you put your mind too. You're everything I wish was and more."

He took another breath through his nose, the deepest yet.

"Asuka, I love you…and I want you, _all of you. _I couldn't bare having anything less than that. If you want me to want you, then _show_ me."

Monologue finished, Shinji swallowed thickly, suddenly unsure of what to do.

He had finally spoken his mind, finally expressed the feelings that had been boiling inside him for years. But now what? What would he do if she rejected him? Would he press on and try again, against her wishes?

_No,_ he though,_ I__'ll probably slink out her apartment and into the bar across the street. I haven't closed my tab there yet, and everybody already knows my name._

So embroiled was he in his thoughts, that he almost didn't catch her body unfurling and turning to face him.

Her face from forehead to jaw was a roiling riptide of emotions, a convulsing display of spasming muscle almost too fast for him follow. Impassioned crosscurrents rippled and crashed against each other, forming new whirlpools of tension and undertows of stress with such ferocity that he was left stupefied as he watched it as tried to resolve resolve itself.

Then the raging frenzy suddenly ceased; skin and muscle, tendon and cartilage, falling slack as one. Her entire presence seemed to grow still, becoming disturbingly placid and calm.

He waited.

Underneath the stillness, he could hear teeth begin to grind together behind pursed lips, the sound akin to the bottoms of boats scraping bedrock, and a low howl started to radiate from her throat like a distant storm-wind.

"Get off the bed. Stand up."

He obeyed.

On the bed, Asuka extended her legs and shuffled to sit at the edge. Pale hands rose to remove the eye patch covering her left eye, then proceeded to lift the shirt and throw both at his head.

He let the shirt envelop him, obscuring his sight as as she whispered to him in a true monotone vacant of all of feeling, even of resignation.

"Look at me," She whispered, "Look at what happens _Invincible Shinji _is too late to save _Poor Little Asuka_."

Shinji started to pull off the top, but he slowed and used the chance to school his features, forcing them into a neutral expression.

Over the years, he had gotten glimpses of what he was about to see, and had long observed the emotional toll this it had exacted on her, driving her to cover herself even on the most blistering of days and subsequently threaten anyone that dared suggest she dress otherwise.

He took in a third breath, removed the shirt, and finally confronted what their childhood victory had wrought on his lover.

Her torso and abdomen were a patchwork of rope purple scars that garishly clashed with her naturally pale skin in some madman's interpretation of plaid. Each scar was interlaced with some number of gouges and indents that bore the distinct impressions of bite or claws. One particular series of holes ran from under and over the middle of left breast and almost all the way to the top of sternum, as if a leather worker had taken a hole puncher to her. The teat itself was missing a nipple and held a faded incision in it's place.

Her arms had fared better, thought that seemed a small consolation. The upper arms bore most of the crisscross of marks and furrows, while the lower arms up held wrinkled splotches of dark red.

He couldn't help but cringe as he tried to imagine the pain she must of suffered during the butchery and what must of been an excruciating recovery. His own mutilation had been pristine in comparison, a simple lancing that had destroyed everything from his knuckles to his rotary cuff, leaving just enough to warrant a few agonizing salvage attempts…

But this…There was a grotesque brutality in her disfigurement that left him feeling nauseous…and made the edges of his vision tinge with red.

His eyes settled on her face, taking in the final scar that stretched from her left eyebrow down to top of her cheekbone. The perfect replica that was her false eye stared blankly as the rest of her countenance warped into a wounded snarl.

"Is this what you want? All of _this_?" she said, voice escalating to a howl, "You don't want me! You're a liar! You're a fucking-"

Despite the years anticipating this moment, despite his ineffective attempts to open up during therapy, despite counting backwards and taking deep breaths, he couldn't restrain the _sheer rage_ from seeping into his own voice.

"I wish I could kill them."

"-ward…" she stared him, snarl morphing to confusion, "What?"

His hand snapped through the air gesturing at distant phantoms only he could see. They swirled across his vision, always out of reach, taunting him from behind the veil of death.

"_Them!_ Everyone that did this," He growled at the spirits, drawing upon the mantra that had held him together over the years, "Those mass produced bastards. Seele. Ritsuko. _My_ _father_, _my mother!_ All of them! They _all_ had a hand in this! They used _us! _They hurt _you!_ I-"

He snatched at the apparitions and suddenly the room was wavering, shuddering, reeling, violently careening like the planet had been unchained from it's solar warden and was rollicking through the void, taking it's children with it.

Some baffled part his mind noted that he couldn't hear sirens, or cries of panic, or much of anything except his blood pounding into his skull. Some other part of him tried to make sense of it and only grew more bewildered.

_We aren__'t in Japan. There shouldn't be earthquakes. This is Germany. Floods. Land slides._

He gripped at the air and his nails scraped something that didn't yield. He threw himself up (or maybe down?), at wherever it was and slammed his shoulder against something hard.

The world gradually stopped spinning, but his mind and the hairs in his inner ear took their sweet time following suit.

In the wind down, he swayed and realized that he hadn't fallen or flown, but had managed to kneel one one knee, and was leaning against a wall.

Steadying himself, he looked around and saw Asuka staring at him, mouth agape.

She sat rigidly, deathly still except for her heaving chest.

_What happened? She__'s not hurt, is she?_

He stepped forward and reached for her, questions rising in his throat. She shrank back, raising her arms in front of her face.

Confused, he stopped as pain suddenly pulsed up his arm. He looked down the limb, and took in bloodied nails, caked with dust and paint chips.

He flexed the hand and staggered again as he tried to stand. His eyes crossed the room sluggishly, and across from his shoulder he saw four distinct channels in the drywall—four ragged scars in pink paint.

Nausea welled up in being as he snapped his attention to Asuka. Even while fighting his disorientation, he could clearly feel the terror radiating off her.

He scrutinized her face, and in the mirror of her widened pupil, he saw a memory.

_He was looking through the eyes of a stranger, no, his vision was narrow, too bestial, too tinged with red. He was looking out from inside a beast that was shaped like a man, stooped into a wild crouch, ready to lunge. The monster was in his living room, back when his hand-carved table had still stood as symbol of his pride, and it also was reflected in Asuka__'s eye, looming in her vision. _

_The world lurched as the creature sprang forward choking her and she was clawing at it gouging out chunks of flesh that didn__'t bleed and revealed not flesh and veins and arteries but steel and gears and wires! _

_The animal snarled and leaned in as Asuka__'s face started to shift from red to purple. He could see it clearly now in her eyes, promising to be the last thing she ever saw._

Recognition slammed into him like an angel falling to earth.

_The Animal! The Beast! The Berserker! It__'s me! I'm it! We're the same!_

It was then that he knew his revelation to be the truth, and the truth to be self-evident.

It had always been with him, in him, _being_ _him._ It had been lurking behind his face ever since he'd been a child abandoned on a train platform, crying out for a man who had cast aside the mantle of "father". For years it had laid dormant, waiting as he had passed his life away under the dutiful gaze of _Sensei_, and finally stirring when he had received that accursed letter calling him to Tokyo-3.

It had gorged itself over those harrowing months, taking hold whenever an angel arrived to try and destroy them, relishing in the bloodbaths while he had cowered and left it to rage.

And when their enemies had all died or been gunned down, it had naturally turned on the only recurring source of pain in his life…

A weak groan escaped his lips as the light of comprehension pierced outward from within his mind, burning away layers of willful ignorance and the curtain of red overlaying his vision.

He sagged under the truth, kneeling until his forehead pressed against the carpet. The short brown fibers twisted in his trembling fists, threatening to tear away as he struggled with a world that now made too much sense.

"I…I've hurt you too," he admitted, "I…violated you in the hospital, jerked off on your sleeping body cause wouldn't wake up and scream at me, when you wouldn't make feel like the piece of shit I was!"

The world lurched again and he cried out as the memories shifted in his mind. Memories of murder, of self loathing, of defilement.

"And I so absorbed in my own damn self-pity that I didn't get there they had started _eating_ you."

His mind was becoming a whirling kaleidoscope of transgressions: passive aggressive remarks, women spoken to in secret, his hand stretched forth to silence.

"Then I choked you. I-I was so pissed that wouldn't just let me love you, that you couldn't move on from what happened and just accept things. You acted like the bitch I wanted in the hospital but you never punished me enough…you never _validated_ the work I put in to run from it all."

"I'm sorry, Asuka," he rasped, "I'm so fucked up. _I__'m the one whose disgusting!_"

He screamed out the last words, nearly vomiting them.

In their wake followed silence.

Time likely passed by him, but it meant little to him. He was an utter wretch, the lowest of the low who deserved nothing but contempt, and he could wait an eternity for his judgment or for his body to rot into dust.

Then there came the rustling of sheets and soft padding of feet.

The feet stopped just short of his head, and for one deliciously sick moment he fantasized that they'd crash into his skull, sending his brains and splinters of bone to splatter across the room like Unit-03's had over that gore soaked highway oh so many years ago.

"Get up."

He stood on legs that threatened to buckle and splinter, keeping his eyes locked on blood-free carpet.

A hand wrapped around his throat, steadily squeezing until his windpipe closed and he had to rely on the air trapped in his lungs to keep conscious.

But still, he didn't dare look up and he didn't bother resisting the verdict.

Then the hand let go and pushed against his chest, forcing him to stagger backwards.

He reflexively choked and gagged, throat spasming as it tried to reopen.

And even though there was thunder in his ears, he could still hear the familiar words fall on him.

"Clean yourself up," she said flatly, "Then get on the bed."

She laid there in the dark, facing what she knew to be his bare back.

She could've ordered him to put clothes on, but the contrast between his nudity and her clothing gave a distinct sense power and separation. After all, only beast slept without clothing, trusting their hides to save them from the fangs of predators.

He resting on his empty shoulder, motionless, making him perfectly parallel to the mattress.

As time crawled by, she absently wondered if could he feel the sheets against network of circuitry or if needed the arm attached.

What if fibers got caught in the hole, or it got dirty? Would he have to undergo surgery again? Why did they bother spending so much time and money building something that could just be taken off and thrown away?

And why was she worried for an animal like him?

She listened to his shallow breathing, knowing that he was listening in turn to hers.

Finally he stirred, revealing himself to be awake.

She jabbed him the ribs with a finger, cutting off what she knew to be another apology.

"Third Child?"

"Yes, Asuka?"

The voice was soft and devitalized, the complete opposite of his normally anxious grousing, or the ear-splitting roars he had displayed earlier.

Despite the tempest within, she thoroughly _loathed_ seeing him so lifeless, so disgustingly submissive and doll-like.

She turned on the light.

"Turn around."

He obeyed without comment and she felt her hatred grow.

"Look at me."

He hesitated, then looked, and she felt her hatred wane.

"Did you mean what you said…about my body…about loving me?"

He answered immediately, a hint of steel shining dully beneath the fatigued tone.

"I meant every word of it," he said, "…Even back then…when I was choking you…I thought about what would happen if you actually died…and that's what stopped me."

She gritted her teeth as she imagined what an idiot like him would do without her to make sure to prop him up.

"And what would you do? Find another pretty face that looked like mine and replace me? I bet you could find plenty of redheads if you skipped over to what's left of Ireland."

He shook his head.

"No, I'd just kill myself," he answered simply, "With you gone, what would I do? Try and live with the guilt? I've killed angels, but not people…not yet anyway."

A sigh passed his lips and he seemed to wilt without actually moving.

She internally growled at how nonchalantly he talked around taking his own life. Idiot and animal though he was, he had no right to deprive her of the only person she could talk openly to about Evas, about her scars, about how her attempts to retriieve her mother, about the upcoming war, about…well, _everything_.

Her sudden awareness of that point clenched at at something in her chest, but she forcibly willed the grip to break it's hold.

"-ot strong like you, Asuka," he continued, "Besides, apparently they've made enough advances with the dummy plug system that they could easily replace me with if they built mo-"

She struck out, jabbing two fingers into his ribs.

"Don't you dare kill yourself, Third Child," She hissed, "Don't you even dare _talk_ or _think _about doing it. Understand?"

"You're mine," her hand raised to grip his neck for emphasis, "I own you and I'll decide _if_ and _when_ you die. Got it?"

His head started to decline in placation, but she pressed her lips against his before he could finish the motion.

He floundered for a moment, clearly taken aback, but she persisted and soon he melted into the kiss.

They continued to meld together, taking in short rasping breaths between bouts, until she put a hand behind his head and pushed him downward.

He didn't resist, but she was actually glad for it as his mouth made it's way down to her collarbone, and over her covered scars until he eventually found her remaining nipple.

She gasped as he sucked greedily through the cloth, and all tension seemed to leave her body in a ragged sigh.

"Asuka, you're beautiful," he gasped between kissing and sucking, "You've always been and you always will be."

"O-Of course I am!" She snapped out of reflex, but was too engrossed to put any bite behind the words.

Meanwhile his hand went about exploring the outside of of leg. The initiative was unprompted and almost intrusive, but again she felt as if he were finally reading her intent, and her body.

She shuffled forward and felt something hard and throbbing slide up against her pelvis, and in turn s he lifted her knee and experimentally rubbed it against the underside of rod.

He rasped, hand jerking to brush against the inside curve of her thigh and where an obscene throbbing had started to develop.

Her leg rose higher, kneecap digging against something that yielded and squished under the pressure.

"Careful, idiot, I could emasculate you at any moment."

"It doesn't matter. I belong to you. I want to make you happy." he moaned, "Use me, _please._ I don't care how."

She ceased her impromptu testing as she mulled over the request.

Things were moving too fast again, just like the first time they had fucked, shortly after he had drunkenly her kissed in that alley, nearly chipping her front teeth in process.

Her heart and her pussy were still chafed from earlier, but even though the earlier round of revelations had left her feeling wrung out, she was now vitalized by his touch and admittedly _yearned _for it.

_I should kick him out of bed and make him take the train naked, and only then would I consider whatever pathetic apology he tries to throw together._

The thought held it's own appeal, but hadn't there been enough cruelty already, from both of them? What was the point of hurting each other more when there was pleasure right here, waiting to be seized?

And aside from that, she supposed this could be considered make up sex, and that was something adults did all the time right? Something like this wasn't really that unusual given their history.

In a matter of heartbeats, she had made her decision.

She fully withdrew her knee, leaving him in a temporary limbo of suppressed whimpers.

Then she quickly grabbed his shoulders and maneuvered him so that she under him.

It still felt galling to be on the bottom, but if he wanted to be used by her, then he could do the work.

He stared down at her with half-lidded gaze that made her insides clench pleasantly as she undressed, throwing the clothes to the floor before she could change her mind.

"Finish what you started."

Half-formed words were stammered but discontinued, then were substituted with an eager nod.

He started to reach out towards the desk, whose sole drawer was still open from earlier, but she gripped his wrist and guided it to the source of her inescapable aching.

"No condom."

"But-"

She used her other hand to grab his chin and force him to look at her.

"If you're going to cum, I want to fucking _feel_ it. No tricks, no sleight of hand and _no more running away_. Now start fucking."

He gave another nod, this one solemn, taking a moment line himself up with her, then finally parted her glistening lips with his cock.

She hissed as he filled her, gripping his shoulders in order not to get swept up in the swell of pleasure that threatened to carry her away.

Rather than the friction she was used to (and had perhaps feared), he slid in with ease, sending sparks to skitter madly up her spine and into her brain, then back again.

"You alright, Asuka?" He asked with concern, "Um, that was just half."

She bobbed her head in a sluggish nod, and he cocked a grin.

"I-I'm fine, I just need to adjust," she said, swatting his shoulder, "And don't you dare smile! I'm not saying you're big or anything!"

She wriggled her hips and nearly hissed again as his shaft scraped against that locus of heat within her, as well as several new points that she had never managed to reach with fingers alone.

And above it all was her self-satisfied partner, apparently happy to be useful for once.

She scowled at the smugness, and in one smooth motion wrapped her legs around his back and drew him forward in a decisive thrust.

Asuka grunted at her self-induced impalement, closing her eye and savoring just how _full_ she felt. The burning sensation of overtaxed muscle was still there, but it was distant, buried under waves of her pleasure that radiated out from her core.

She opened her eye and found Shinji was on verge of swooning, features twisted in naked bliss. The cocky grin had been stolen from his face and now belonged to her.

"Are _you _alright, Third Child?"

"I-I'm fine, y-you're just _amazing,__" _he moaned,_"_God, Asuka, this…this is _unfair._"

Her smirk faltered at the honesty, and she decided to reward him by clenching down on his member. He let loose another moan, then a reluctant whine, and she took the opportunity to test just how much she could squeeze out of him.

She clenched, clenched and constricted with almost intoxicating glee. He tried to pull back, tried to go forward, but her well toned legs and pussy proved to be vice he couldn't break, leaving him to shudder and writhe impotently in her grip.

"Stop squirming. I'll tell when you're allowed to move."

Most of his body stopped like clockwork, but his hips betrayed him with small spasms that teased out even more pleasure from her honeyed trap. She allowed the transgression, and put her hands behind her head, basking in his helplessness. It seemed so obvious to her now, but sex could be downright _fun_ with someone under curled around her finger, or rather, with her legs curled around them.

"Shinji…"

His hips stilled, perhaps noticing the use of his name.

"Yes, Asuka?"

"Tell me everything you love about me."

Like earlier, he answered immediately.

"I love the way the sun shines through your hair. I love that collect you degrees like how other people collect shoes. I love when you smile and when you laugh and when-"

"Enough" She whispered, relaxing her legs, "Start moving."

He did, and perhaps it was out of cowardice or maybe restraint, but he moved agonizedly slow despite the lust that radiated from behind his glassy blue eyes.

She bit back a complaint as he quickly started to pick up speed, and was forced to admit that allowing him to move on his own felt good, _damned_ good.

But it was more than that. _Damned good_ was shifting into _pretty_ _great_ which quickly shifted _fucking incredible _at a speed that was leaving her breathless, converting her entire body was turning into live wire that thrummed with channeled ecstasy.

She tried to reign in the pulsating energy but it was too widespread for her to do anything but be overwhelmed.

Sweat threatened to spill down her from her eye and her cheek, and she wiped it away in annoyance.

_Fuck! Who am I kidding? I__'m crying! But why? Why am I crying!_

Her lax in control allowed her traitorous throat to let loose a whimper and soon a sniffle took the opportunity escape from her nose.

Shinji hastily stopped, mouth opening to spill out concern.

"Asuka? Am I hurting you? I can st-"

She dammed his mouth with a hand to stop the flow of words, the worry in them somehow making her want to cry more.

"I-I'm fine, you idiot! It's just…like I said, it's just a lot to take in," she said with a sniff, "And I just…I just…"

His anxious features softened and her hand fell away to wipe off the tears.

"I hate feeling like this," she seethed, "Only children cry."

He shook his head, and awkwardly leaned back so he could help her wipe her face without toppling over.

"Asuka, it's normal to cry when things are…too much. I cried when the doctors said you might not make it out of surgery," he said softly, "Hell, I even cried when you left Japan without me!"

"I know you did! You always cry when I get hurt or when I leave you behind! Don't do that!" she yelled, "I don't _need_ anyone to worry about me and I don't anyone to lean on me! I'm Asuka! The greatest Eva pilot there ever was and an adult that makes others look idiots! I don't need to be _coddled_!"

He opened his mouth to protest, but shut it with the distinct _click_ of teeth on teeth.

Then he did something she had never allowed him to do, even after tumultuous courtship had ended, something that had always been quickest to anger her whenever he attempted it.

He slipped his hand under her back and held her against him.

She froze, unsure of how she should respond.

She could return the hug…but that would be the same as showing weakness, essentially admitting that she accepted his so called "love", that she needed him. Alternatively, she could excuse it as just her using him in a different way, and not disclose her intent, but she already had given up on being spiteful…at least for now.

The debate continued in her head until she noticed his warmth of body seeping into her, suffusing and breaking down the body-wide network of tension.

_I__…I just want to feel good, don't eye? If that means being weak, then only he would know. It'd be a secret only we would share, like so many others._

She carefully coiled her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, returning the embrace with everything she could.

"Don't ever let me go. Don't ever leave me alone." She whispered, "Never stop holding me."

"I never will."

"Promise me, Shinji. I'll never forgive you if you don't."

He stilled, and for a moment some feral part of her contemplated reversing course and finally returning the favor of being choked.

_He__'s thrown the arm away and you've already got yours around his neck. It'd be so easy, just like they showed you in traini-_

Suddenly he lifted her, leaning back as he pulled her forward until he was kneeling and she was straddling his lap.

The swift change in position caused a dizzying array of sensations to crash through her mind and clear out all thought, violent or otherwise.

He tilted his head back, gripping her chin, and looked into her eye with such intensity that she almost shied away from it.

"Asuka Langley Sohryu, I promise, no, I _swear _that as long as I'm alive I'll never allow you be alone," He vowed, "I love you, all of you. I want to be with you, here, now, and forever."

She blinked rapidly, holding back more tears that threatened to escape.

_How is able to do this to me?_

She quickly buried her head into the nook of his neck, indulging in his scent and the touch of his skin against hers.

"Only an idiot like you could love me."

"Guess I'm just a fool in love then," he said, "But I'm your fool."

She couldn't help but giggle into his neck at the corny comeback.

"You can be real cheesy sometimes. You know that, Shinji?"

His answer was swift, voice taking on a deep tone dripping with faux-smoothness.

"It ain't easy being cheesy."

She giggled again and swatted him on his back.

"Alright, alright, that's enough out of you."

She hugged tighter, and they stayed like that, merely holding each other and enjoying the simple contact.

For how long did she hold him? She didn't know and didn't care. Time and pride became meaningless concepts in his embrace, inferior to the peace that she was engulfed by and relished in.

The power of that ever-present serenity continued to hold her in it's grip…until she felt the fleshy spear that impaled her begin to soften.

She squirmed in protest, grinding against him, and she grumbled in irritation.

"Asuka?"

She took in a deep breath, then lifted her head to look at him.

_I can__'t keep letting him put me on the defensive._

"Listen, I _refuse_ to beg, so I'll only say this once: I want you to fuck me, Shinji Ikari. For real this time."

He smiled, and nodded with determination.

"Alright."

She sighed, gyrating her hips from side to side, invigorating flesh that begun to wilt.

"And don't start slow this time…I'll follow your lead."

His hand gripped her rear and lifted her, before letting her down while he thrust upward. She compensated by quickly figuring out a rhythm of his strokes and bouncing in time with them.

The world around them dimmed then melted away as her room turned into a musky sauna filled the lurid _smacks_ of wet flesh on flesh.

The Wave, the true one, was upon her again, rearing back as it climbed to it's peak. But this time she didn't try and force it, didn't wait for it like a petulant child, but instead rode with it, and let it envelop her in all consuming ecstasy.

She looked at her lover and was taken aback at how utterly lost in euphoria he looked, and she felt her own features unwillingly mirror his shameless display.

Feeling suddenly self conscious, she relinquished one her holds on his back and hid behind her hand.

The grip on buttocks tightened as Shinji spoke between gasps and thrusts.

"A-Asuka, I was serious…when I said I wanted to see your face. Please…don't hide from me."

She peeked between her fingers.

"Y-you look stupid," she half chided, half groaned, "Do I really feel that good?"

His grimace shifted into a smile.

"You do…and you like you're enjoying yourself too."

"S-shut up!"

"Show me your face…or I'll stop fucking you."

She growled at the threat.

"You wouldn't dare."

His bucking began to slow, just by the barest of margins, but enough that she agonizedly bounced off-rhythm.

"Fine!"

She dropped her hand and returned it to his back. The bucking immediately picked up, surpassing it's original speed and making him reach deeper inside her.

"_Gott_, Shinji! Mach weiter! Faster!"

Her language faculties struggled to keep up with the sheer ecstasy she experienced with each rebound. The language of his body was all that she really needed, but she felt world had to know just how _incredible_ she felt.

She dug her nails into his back, digging into him almost as fiercely as he was into her, and he flagrantly groaned in a mix of pain and pleasure.

"Asuka!"

"_Scheiße! Kami! Shinji!"_

She somehow managed to squeeze down with her what remaining control she had and something in her body finally gave way.

The wave she had mentally been riding finally crested and surged forth, and she managed to scream before it drowned out her voice and senses in euphoria. Her pussy convulsed sporadically and another wave followed suit, physical and just as intense, gushing from within her and leaking out the imperfect seal they had formed with their hips. A moment she his own hot release erupt inside her, almost searing her already burning pussy, before being swept into the flood.

She shuddered, continuing to contract around him, milking him of his remaining seed as he gave a final few thrusts that jostled the few thoughts that hadn't been washed away by her orgasm.

Gradually the flood lessened, leaving her empty of reason and strength. She absently noted that her body was going limp, but he caught and cradled her, clinching her to him.

For a time all she knew was the after shocks of that long awaited climax and the heartfelt embrace that held her against him, and she liberally indulged in both.

Somewhere infinitely close, she heard Shinji murmur her name again and again like some holy chant or mantra.

Then he was kissing her, over and over, the soft caresses seeking to imprint his love on her skin. She returned the kisses, surpassing his intensity as she left her marks on him in turn.

They continued their impassioned attempts to meld into each other, until finally the streets outside stirred with life, and darkness gave way to twilight.

As she had expected, Asuka awoke to find her cunt feeling battered and hollow.

However, what she hadn't anticipated was the arm snaked between her breasts and securing her to a warm body.

There was also the usual lack of cold sweat making her clothes stick to her skin. In fact, she wasn't even wearing any clothing, just the thin blanket that served to guard her against the occasionally brisk summer night.

The blanket did however cling to her as her clothes would have, though the dried sweat that covered her wasn't just her own.

She groaned through a parched throat and quickly discovered that she also physically exhausted; an profound sense of weariness that pervaded her muscles and seemed to be rooted in her very bones.

Thankfully her mind was surprisingly alert and not struggling to separate dream from reality as it normally would have on waking. If there had been nightmares, they must've the mild ones of phantom dismemberment, and not of a hanging pair of feet swinging from north to south.

_Alright, Asuka, think! What exactly happened? You tested the obnoxious new machine interface at HQ and went home. Then Shinji came over wanting to talk about-_

Her recollection stopped as the body behind her stirred, letting go of her as it yawned and grumble.

She heard the bed frame squeak softly as the mattress shifted, followed by a familiar series of crackles and pops.

The Third Child, no, the _Third Man_, shambled into her peripheral vision, balance offset by the lack of an arm, but he made due.

He passed the bookshelf at the other end of the room and entered the attached washroom. Shortly after, another protracted groan echoed off tiles, the toilet was flushed, the pipes ran with water and he returned, cup in hand.

She was fully awake at this point, taking him in as walked over beside the bed and set the cup on the table next to her.

He looked down and for a moment she could do was stare back him, a dozen emotions and thoughts jockeying to get to forefront of her mind.

Then his remaining hand stirred, and she felt a light touch press gently against her scalp. She hesitated, but then leaned into it, allowing him to run his fingers through her hair. It was something she knew he enjoyed doing and something he knew she enjoyed, though she had never openly admitted it.

"You can put your arm back on."

He glanced over his missing shoulder, then flicked to something behind her. His features briefly clouded before he finally turned back to her, shaking his head while his absently continued combing.

"I'll leave it for now."

He leaned further down, kneeling on one leg and kissed her on her forehead. She felt a warmth spread out from her kiss and travel down to chest. The warmth was farm from the fiery wrath she was accustomed to, but it did the same work of putting some strength back into her overtaxed muscles.

_I could get used to this._

"Kiss me again…I like it."

He did so, and the warmth intensified, granting her more strength.

"Aga-"

Her request was interrupted by the sudden rumbling of her stomach. She cursed at the intrusion, but he completed the kiss with a smile.

"I'm going to make breakfast, or maybe it's lunch now…" He said with a slight frown.

_No! You can__'t leave now!_

She responded quickly, forcing her voice not to quiver.

"Does it matter? You can't cook one handed, you idi…" she trailed off, catching herself, "…You can't cook with one hand, Shinji. You'll drop a knife on your foot or something."

It was lackluster ploy, but she had to try.

"I managed to do it between surgeries and during physical therapy," He said with half a shrug, "What do you have in your fridge?"

"Bread, cheese, eggs and sausage…"

"Buttered, toasted, then buttered again. Over easy, half a slice per egg. Sausage almost burnt to cinders," he said, reciting her preferences without pause, "Right?"

She grunted affirmatively. Of course he knew how she liked her food cooked.

"Asuka?"

"Yeah?"

"I really did mean what I said last night," he whispered, hand moving to stroke her cheek, "I'm going to call in and say I'm sick or something, and we'll spend the day together. Sound good?"

She nodded, unable to keep from smiling at the idea.

He straightened and stood, and for a moment she marveled at the sight. To her chagrin, he had long since surpassed her height by couple inches, but now he seemed to tower over her. When had he ever stood so tall? So confidently?

Then he looked at her, expectantly.

"I just need a moment," she said, "Don't worry."

He nodded and strode out the room.

With him gone, she able to take in the rest of her room.

The space was largely spartan, as was the rest of the one story house, which she had made sure had at least twice the square footage as the old apartment in Tokyo-3. With all the extra space, even her vast collection of things had room to spread out, with any excess junk and knick-knacks shoved into various closets or having migrated over to Shinji's apartment.

Next to her on the table was a cup of water (which she drank down greedily), which sat next to a pack of cigarettes, and her phone. Other that that, her bookshelf stood in the corner, filled with textbooks and some video games she had never found time to put back in the living room.

Everything looked as it had been last night, but at the same time she could practically _feel _how his very presence had somehow _altered _the atmosphere of the place_._

He had never stayed the night before, only insisting once before she had shot him down. Perhaps she had realized then that maybe this shift in ambiance was probably was the reason, or, more likely, she had simply been scared to wake up with a crushed windpipe.

Or maybe the sense of things having gone topsy-turvey was all in her head; the nauseating aftermath of the emotional roller coaster she'd ridden into exhaustion.

Regardless, Shinji was here now and she would need to figure out to do about it, and that required getting up and getting clean.

She dragged herself out of bed and into the bathroom, briefly eying her discarded eye-patch on the floor, and decided it could stay abandoned for now, right next to that accursed limb.

Her shower and thorough clean up felt absolutely divine, and by the end she had finally felt whole again, ready to tackle whatever the world could throw at her. She would've stayed under the blessed stream of hot water had not the smell cooking pervaded the steamy air, drawing her out of her heaven.

Revitalized, she reentered the room and had just put a cigarette in her mouth when she was immediately confronted with the first issue the world had decided to serve her up: four shallow grooves in the opposing wall, their edges crusted with dried blood.

_We really do have lot of shit to sort out, don__'t we?_

Not too long ago, when the police had dropped by to stop her raving, the idea would have been a paralyzing one, triggering another fight (never flight)response from her. But now it only pushed her heart into a mild gallop as she considered just how much of a priority restoring the paint was in comparison to untangling the rest of the tangled knot that was their relationship.

She had little time to ponder the issue when her phone suddenly rang, blaring some recent pop hit she had already forgotten about.

She flipped the device over and familiar number flashed across the screen. Asuka felt her eye roll out of reflex as she answered.

"What do you want, Misato?"

"Hey, Asuka, you free right now?"

She considered turning the woman down, then thought about how she had called from her personal number, not her work one.

"Yeah, I'm free."

"Good, can you put me on video?"

Asuka sighed and obliged.

A video feed of the Commander of Wille resting against a wall of pillows filled her screen. Considering the angle, it must have been placed up at the foot of the hospital bed or on a desk.

Misato looked exhausted, her hair a frizzy violet mess and puffy dark rings underlining her eyes. At the same time however, she still projected her usual boisterous aura, and was beaming widely, the grin threatening to split her face in two.

In her arms was a small bundle, swaddling something that wriggled as it gurgled. Impossibly small hands reached out of cloth to try and clutch at purple strands, and the thing cooed as it managed to catch some.

To Asuka, the newborn (Misato had somehow procrastinated on giving it name, typical), while still technically _new_, wasn't some unknown factor since her phone had been bombarded with pictures of it for the past few days. Yet it still surprised her to see how lively it was in real life, wriggling and twisting as played with it's mother's hair.

A sense of…fondness(?) started to well up inside her as her eyes transfixed on the child, almost prompting her lips into a small grin.

Then her face and her mind froze to screeching halt as an icy spear of terror spiked upward from the void between her legs and gored through the fuzzy feeling.

She had downright _demanded_ Shinji not wear a condom last night, hadn't she? She had had a hormonal implant installed years ago to deal with menstrual cramps, but condoms had always been the final safeguard, a physical barrier against throwing away her career as a pilot, against motherh-

_She was in a hospital bed, staring blankly at bundle in her lap. The cloth folded back to reveal a doll with blue buttons for eyes and thick red hair-_

"Asuka?"

_-He was was there, standing above her, smiling proudly. He reached for the bundle, but she gripped it to her chest as he leaned forward-_

"Asuka? Hellooo? Are you okay?"

_-the doll moved, cheeks suddenly flushed with color as it babbled with glee at simply being alive, wrinkled hands wrapping around false fingers that-_

"Asuka!"

A familiar voice bellowed her name, loud enough to make the vision shudder until it tore apart and left her swaying in place.

She shunted the tatters of the delusion aside and focused on her phone.

"Huh? What? I-I'm fine."

Misato's haggard face stayed set in concern, blatantly unconvinced.

"You sure?"

Asuka realized with a start that her jaw muscles ached something fierce and she was slightly out of breath. She must have been either grimacing or grinding her teeth while the woman had been trying to get her attention. Likely both.

"Yeah. Why? Because I yelled at that new tech for touching my Eva? It's not my fault you hire weirdos." She shot back sharply.

_And for talking to Shinji, damn near throwing her tits in his face!_

The woman fell silent, looking uncomfortable. The infant seemed to pick up on the disquiet and stopped playing with her hair, starting to writhe.

"…We received a noise complaint from your neighbors," the Commander said carefully, "…Are the two of you back together?"

She scowled, but felt none of the annoyance she normally would've felt at what was left unsaid, and instead felt the unpleasant sting of embarrassment.

_Did you hurt each other again? Do I need sit down with the chief of police? Please, Asuka, just let me enjoy my time off for once._

"There's nothing to worry about, Misato," Asuka huffed, turning up her nose, "You have an infant to baby, don't waste it on me."

Misato started to say something, but stopped. Then her face split into that infuriatingly know-it-all grin only she could pull off.

"Hey, Asuka?"

"What"

"You seem to be in a good mood. Something good happen?" She winked and her voice dipped into a conspiratorial whisper, "If it's not Shinji, then is it someone else? C'mon you can tell Mama Misato."

"N-No!" She squawked back, "I'm not some skank!"

"Oh? So it's Shinji then?

"Shut up!"

Asuka felt her face heat up and the sting intensify as the woman chuckled and gently rocked her baby.

"By the way, what are you wearing?"

The redhead looked down and realized the shirt she was wearing wasn't one of hers. The fabric hung too loosely off her frame and the hem reached her halfway to her knees. Thankfully, the collar wasn't low enough to reveal anything other than pale skin and the edge of an indent.

_Dressed in a shirt too big for me, cigarette dangling out my mouth, hair a mess; no wonder Misato asked. She probably thinks I just got my brains fucked out._

…Which she quietly determined wasn't far off from the truth. Actually, that _was_ the truth,, wasn't it?

_Yup, Shinji fucked my brains out, then said he loved me and _swore_ he__'d never let me go. Now he's half naked in my kitchen cooking up a storm._

Asuka stifled the sudden urge to cackle madly.

Shinji loved her. The idiot honestly and truly did, didn't he? They could deal with all their other bullshit later because _he loved her._

"It's just a shirt I bought online but never returned" she answered, realizing that she'd been silent for too long, "Can't have too many comfy shirts, right?"

"Uh-huh, sure."

Asuka scowled again at the woman's smug tone, but she stopped as the sound of humming drifted into the room from the kitchen over the smell of cooking meat.

Misato leaned forward slightly, looking around as if she were on the edge of a window and not behind a screen, miles away.

"What was that?"

"I left the TV on some cooking show," Asuka said quickly, "that's all."

"Uh-"

The smarmy affirmative was cut off as the baby started to grumble.

"Shh, shh, don't cry little one. Here, daddy will take care of you."

Mr. Hyuga, or rather, Mr. Katsuragi, briefly entered the view, waved with a smile and whisked away the infant after kissing his wife on the cheek. In those brief seconds of seeing the three of them together, Asuka had to begrudgingly admit they looked almost picturesque.

Misato looked longingly off screen, then turned back to the front, transfixing Asuka with a darkening expression.

Before she could speak up however, a distant cry sounded from down the hallway.

Asuka jumped to her feet and rushed down the corridor, crossing the four meters between her room and the kitchen in what seemed like heartbeat.

She found him in front of the stove piled with steaming dishes, wiping a rag against his stomach. Shinji had found his pair of shorts, but the rest of him skin was still bare…a look she idly noted suited him quite nicely.

"_What did you do_?"

He cringed at the sharpness in her voice, and she winced at the response.

Then he looked at her face, and he slowly relaxed. He put the rag down and rubbed the back of his head in that age-old way she always found frustratingly endearing.

"I forgot the first rule of cooking: never cook naked without a shirt on."

Asuka palmed her forehead and let loose a sigh.

"I told you last night, Shinji. Your body is mine, don't go around hurting yourself doing stupid things."

He smiled broadly and she her face heat up.

"Alright," he said with a smile, "Anyway, the food's alm-"

He stopped as his shorts started to shriek in alarm.

He glanced at her, then his hand immediately dug into his pocket and drew out a similar phone to hers.

"Hello? What's the emergency?"

He cocked his head, looking bewildered and she could only respond with her own look of confusion.

_Wait, Misato didn__'t mention an attack, so…_

"Just a test? I'm okay…no really, I'm okay, and Asuka's okay too…wait wait how do you know what happened to my arm?"

He suddenly looked down, and Asuka followed his gaze to where she still gripped her phone.

The video feed cut off, but not before Asuka caught a glimpse of Misato clutching her own phone to the side her face, expression unreadable.

"Listen, Misato, I'm fine. I just needed a break from wearing it, alright?," he said, frustration creeping into his voice, "No, she didn't attack me, and no, she's not making me say that."

He paused, placing the phone in the crook of his neck so he palm his forehead. Meanwhile, she internally growled, resisting the urge to grab snatch the piece of plastic away and yell into it.

_How dare she assume that I hurt him! That I__'m holding him hostage!_

"Why am I at Asuka's?"

Asuka felt her fists clench as she anxiously awaited his answer. Was he going to lie to Misato? Hide the fact he loved her because it was embarrassing to fall for Willie's resident "Red Demon"? Was he going to run away again?

"Well…we talked things over and figured some things out…big things…I don't know, Misato, couple's therapy seems too soo-no, no, you're right, everyone saw how it worked out for you two…"

He paused again, then inched closer to wrap his arm around her waist.

"Listen Misato, what I do know that is I love her, and that's all I think really matters right now."

The confidence behind his words struck her as much as the firm grip that held her.

A third surge of warmth spread through her body, spurring her to use it, and this time Asuka did give into her urges.

She reached up, yanked the phone down to ear level, and roared.

"That's right, Misato! He loves me and I love him! And we're going to figure things out, with or without some nitwit with a useless degree! If you don't like it then you and those busybodies across the street can kiss our asses!"

Everything fell silent, except for the quiet click of the stove's clock, stoically informing that indeed, it was still breakfast time, though barely.

Asuka waited the silence out, breathing heavily as she glared down at a screen that showed a still image of their past guardian posing as some nameless U.N official clipped a medal to her chest.

Then a loud squeal erupted from the phone and pierced the air, forcing her to shove it away from her face. The squeal died down, but a stream of loud chatter flowed forth to replace it.

"I knew it! Knew it, knew it, knew it! I'm so happy for you two! So you two are sleeping together, huh? Well make sure to use-"

Shinji sputtered as he took back the phone and tried to talk the excited woman down, failing spectacularly as the she made even more racy comments.

Asuka stared, then found herself laughing as the man who would literally rip his own arm to quell her fears reverted back to the awkward boy who stuttered over being teased.

She wiped a tear from her eye, not bothering to hide it. Besides, it was a happy tear after all, a rarity bordering on anomaly.

Then it hit her.

This atmosphere, this laughter, this lost sense of joy that came back so easily to her now: they were things she hadn't experienced since she'd barely older than toddler, in that short span of time when piloting had to define her entirely.

It was then she had accepted the atmosphere surrounding her had indeed changed. Her house, it seemed, was finally starting to feel like a home.

A/N

Hello there,

As with most things, my return to writing fan-fiction after well of a decade away from any serious creative writing did not go as planned.

I had hoped to start small, dipping my toe into the water and seeing if I remembered how to swim, or if anything bit me for my intrusion. I can't actually swim in real life, so I guess that comparison doesn't quite work…yet it still feels apt.

Anyway, to give insight into how this story ballooned from a planned cap of 4,000 to more than triple that number, I must first admit I fell into the trap of self-indulgence when finished the original draft, and kept adding to it as I found excuse after excuse to clarify and justify a history left unwritten. The result is what you've just read, as long-winded as the previous sentence.

Originally, this supposed to be a much shorter, much darker tale, more akin to the one Shinji tells the officer: a brutal and twisted thing that may have been one of "what-ifs" shown during Instrumentality. I figured that even with Third Impact averted, the rocky relationship between Asuka and Shinji wouldn't progress without it's own host of issues, especially since the two would be denied the revelations Third Impact had forced upon the two (and perhaps everyone else).

Asuka has always been a character to express herself physically, from her introduction slapping the boys on the _Over the Rainbow_, to her ill fated final battle. In terms of the violence on Shinji's part, he has always had a problem recognizing the struggles those around him unless pushed to physical and metal extremes, which results in him lashing out, usually in disappointment and/or frustration. Having these two children, now adults in this story, try and cling to each other would obviously not bode well for either.

But, in the end I wanted a redemptive story, closer in tone to how the series ended, rather than the movie. I feel the result is similarly cheesy, but earnest, just like having the cast stand up to congratulate Shinji on his success realizing he's a person.

Despite the "happy" ending however, I also wanted to make sure that things weren't suddenly fixed but their dual confessions. You can't simply overlook repeated cycles of denial, substance abuse and escapism—and you _especially _can't overlook a history of abusive codependency. Then of course, there's also the matter of having at least two war machines capable of destroying any conventional military to consider. Gods in all but name, just sitting there, waiting to be used…

If you've made it this far, dear reader, I hope I entertained you enough to give me some sign you actually engaged with what I've put forth, for better or worse. A follow, a fav, or simple review along the lines of "It didn't suck" would do wonders for my motivation. That said, everyone knows beggars can't be choosers.


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